


Firelight

by ravencycle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 03:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11728842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravencycle/pseuds/ravencycle
Summary: Based on where the story is going in Season 7.  May be construed as a bit spoiler-y (based on leaks), so beware!





	Firelight

**Author's Note:**

> Based on where the story is going in Season 7. May be construed as a bit spoiler-y (based on leaks), so beware!

She stood by his door, silent, hesitant to breathe. She did not want to disturb him, but she needed to see him. Waiting around for the last few days for word of him, of his recovery, had been maddening. Yet she had not left to sail south as she should have. 

She recalled the moment, days ago now, when he, lain atop the saddle of a horse hanging on for dear life, unconscious and deathlike, carried into Eastwatch, where she and the others had decided to catch their breath before sailing south again. (Whose horse was it? She now wondered. They had not left on the mission with any horses.) 

She had been distraught those hours after the battle knowing she had left him behind. But there was no other way, and a high price had already been paid. Viserion. Those hours between arriving back at Eastwatch and the startling appearance of the horse carrying with it the dead man, she had stood in disbelief of all that had transpired, choking on sobs. All he had told her was true. And then there was the dread that overcame her: not knowing what to do next now that all her expectations - all her desires - were irrelevant. There was something bigger, more staggering to face, something more evil than she could ever have imagined. 

And the light in all this – he was gone. Or so she thought. He had been carried into Eastwatch’s battlements on someone’s horse, practically dead. She had seen the galloping creature from afar, heard its hooves. Her entire being paused at the sight; she could not breathe and her heart nearly stopped. Before she knew it, she was running to him. The horse, as if knowing it had reached its destination, stopped abruptly, the body it carried sliding off, landing in a pile on the frozen ground but she made it just in time to catch his head – yes, it was him. She exhaled long and deep, looking for signs of life, cradling him. She breathed harder and faster, jaggedly, wanting to give him life through her own force of will. It was then that she noticed others had come running too - Ser Davos was there, she was sure -but she was so lost in her own desperation, the helplessness of it all. She said his name aloud, "Jon". Nothing stirred. She was beginning to feel angry at him for being dead. Then, all of a sudden, he opened his eyes, straight at her, and he faded away just as quickly. A smile glowed on her face. 

They brought him in, Daenerys following close behind, and his convalescence began. The first day was tricky, on the edge of some kind of death. It was as though he did not inhabit his body, he seemed so far away. She had begun to think that the firelight from the hearth was the only light left in the room. And although she visited him, she did not stay at his side as she wished to. She saw the scars on his body, the marks of his past life, and they terrified her. She need to know about them, and yet she was not yet ready to face that she cared deeply for him. Being there with him, in this room, as he began to breathe more deeply, latching onto life, gave her too much hope, more than she dared. 

It took some days, but now he was on the other side of this door, alert and commanding as ever, having directed everyone to ready themselves for departure to the south immediately. He – they – all did not have time to waste. She closed her eyes, summoning her pride. She was a queen after all. They needed each other for all that was to come, of that she was now certain. Leaning in, she knocked lightly. 

“Enter”, his raspy reply. 

She walked in, steeling herself for this moment and for seeing each other again. He was seated on his bed, nearly fully dressed in his armour, his cape in his hands. His eyes had widened at the sight of her, and he began to rise - “My Lady – “ He was wincing. She gestured for him to stop with her hand, “No, no. Jon. Please.” He stood up anyway and she walked towards the window, because although she had felt ready, she was finding it difficult to look at him. “Please, it’s Daenerys…Dany.”

There was so much to be said and the weight of it was between them now, and both felt that burden. 

After a long moment, “I’m so sorry.” He was looking at her as he quietly said this but she continued to look out the window, not wanting to break right then and there. She waved her hand to silence him.

“There’s nothing…” She broke off, inhaling the air hard. “You know what?” she asked, turning around, facing him now. “You know what I truly feared?” He looked at her deep with those downcast brown eyes, full of sympathy and understanding. “Losing you…I thought you were dead. And I never felt so alone in my life – and I have felt – I have _been_ alone – my entire life. It is something I cannot explain, knowing you were gone – the dread, the – “ He got up at this – and it appeared that he would go to her – but he stopped himself with a step between them. 

“We have a lot to do” He was stoic. 

“Yes”, she replied flatly. They gazed at each other. The words remained unspoken. “Dany. We will…everything will be alright." He was trying to comfort her now, by telling her _I’m here, I’m alive_ without actually saying it. 

“Yes” was the only reply she could muster, nodding but looking downwards. 

That is when he caught her off guard, as he attempted, in pain, to kneel before her. “Your Grace…I pledge myself to –“ 

“Jon! No! Get up!” cutting him off straightaway. He slowly rose up. 

“Let me - …I need to tell you –“ then came a sharp exhale “…my life is yours. You did not have to come and help us but you did. You did not have to – and now you have sacrificed…” he trailed off. “I will bend the knee, for you, if you still wish it. The North is yours and we will help you take the throne when the time comes. My sword is yours, forever.” 

She gazed at him for a long moment, unblinking.

“You will never bend the knee to me, Jon, King of the North. You will never bend the knee to anyone.” 

She met his eyes, full of light. He looked at her in wonderment, coming to grips with her words, coming to a gradual acceptance, and, steely queen that she was, the stare she returned was assured. Her moment of weakness had passed. 

He nodded once. Mutual respect had now been born and bonded. 

Breaking away, she walked towards the door, but she had not said all that she wanted to say so she stopped short. Turning around, she caught him looking at her with that unsure look of his and she just knew – there was something about him that stirred her, but it was almost in another language and she could not decipher it. She had come to him wanting to discuss the loss of Viserion, his telling of the mission, and what he had seen, his scars, what they needed to do next…But she could not help herself - she decided to allow herself this release. “A few days ago, I sat there, right there, next to you as you lay dying. I was desperate. I prayed to all the gods. Do not take him away. I do not want to be alone here, I cannot do this alone, without you…This is not how it should be…” her voice at a near whisper, her eyes beginning to well up. She paused. “I kissed your lips, I wanted you to live so badly and –“ At this, in a single stride he was before her, taking her in his arms in a strong embrace as if holding her up from falling. They held one another with a long shared breath. He wanted to kiss her and she knew it. Pulling her away slowly, he tilted his head to look deeply at her, their noses nearly touching. They held one another by the elbows, a tender touch barely felt, but deep as if bone on bone. Silence. Again, that weight between them, the weight they both felt, more tangible than ever as their breath mingled. Their mouths pulled in towards one another, but then – a sound, loud and terrifying - a screech from without, a wail, jarred them both out of their reverie, and the moment that had so sweetly ascended had crashed forcefully back down to the earth.


End file.
